Hope
by victoriajoanne
Summary: Updated Version. A post-battle fic, based on something that bothered me throughout the entire series, and was never actually resolved. Harry's thoughts on the future.


Hope

Overcome with exhaustion, feet barely holding him up, Harry moved through the ruined castle which had been his home, with the sole intention of, finally, getting some sleep. Ron and Hermione, understanding his need to be alone, had left him to rejoin the rest of the Weasleys in the Great Hall. Harry thought of his two best friends, how much they had sacrificed for him, and felt an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude. He thought of the kiss he had witnessed between Ron and Hermione what felt like days before and he knew that wherever they were at that moment, they were together.

This made him think of Ginny and suddenly his need to see her, to hold her, and to tell her, to finally tell her... was greater than it had ever been. "Not now" he told himself. She needed to be with her family right now, to grieve. She had lost a brother after all. Fred. At thought of his name, of the names of all the dead, Harry felt the pain and horror he had been trying to suppress for the past 5 hours threaten to overwhelm him. And, for the first time, he let it.

Clutching a nearby ruined stone statue for support, Harry felt his knees give way with the enormity of what had happened, with the sheer finality of death. He needed, as he had done hours earlier, walking to meet Voldemort in the forest, for someone to hold him, to tell him it was all ok. He needed Ginny. _But why would she want to see you_, sneered that voice in his head, _after all, it's your fault that her brother's dead._. His fault. If he'd only given himself up sooner... _You abandoned her at the wedding, you let her brother die. She won't want you anymore. None of them will, once they realise the truth; that none of their loved ones would be dead at all if it weren't for you. You killed them._ Harry staggered on down the corridor, propelled by his anguish. _You let them die. You're still here, but they're gone forever._ He sunk to the floor and cried out, a wordless scream of agony and exhaustion. He closed his eyes, wishing, more than anything, that when he opened them, he would be 11 again, waking up in the cupboard under the stairs. That Hagrid had never come. That he never had become a part of this world he loved so much. He would endure a lifetime with the Dursleys, if it meant that no-one would have had to die –

Suddenly, through his eyelids, Harry saw a bright, blue light. He snapped them open and drew his wand, fearing surviving Death Eaters, or worse...but what he saw in front of him made his heart miss a beat. A patronus. A phoenix. Stunned, Harry stared at it, sure he could not be seeing what was in front of his eyes. "Professor...Dumbledore...?" He whispered, heart pounding. The phoenix tilted its head, surveying him, just like its caster had once done, then spread its wings and took off at full speed, down the corridor, away from him. "Wait!" Harry cried, his voice strangled and cracked. He tore after it, knowing, as he had known in the Forest of Dean, that the phoenix was not a trap, that it was safe.

He rounded a corner, just in time to see the soft blue light disappearing into a wall, opposite and old, half burnt tapestry. Almost instinctively, Harry began to walk up and down in front of the wall, concentrating hard on the phoenix, on what he desperately needed. He knew the door had appeared before he even opened his eyes, knew that, despite the cursed fire that had raged through the room earlier that night, when he opened the door, the room would still be intact. He pushed it open with trembling hands and, with a deep breath, entered the room.

When Harry saw what was waiting for him inside, he did not feel surprise. It fact, he was not entirely sure that he had not known all along that this was where it had been hidden all those years ago, that only now would he finally be allowed to see it again. As if in a dream, Harry approached the mirror that he had not seen since his first year at Hogwarts, the mirror that showed only your heart's true desire. He took a deep breath, looked up, his heart pounding in his chest, and gasped.

What he saw was identical to what he had first seen in the mirror, seven years before. There he stood, at the age of eleven, with his mother and father on either side, smiling down at him. Feeling tears welling up in his eyes, threatening to spill over, he reached out to touch the mirror, and as he did, something changed. The image in the mirror was exactly the same, but utterly different.

Looking closer, his eleven year old self didn't appear to have the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. The red haired woman's eyes were brown, not green, like Lily's had been. And clearest of all, the hand in the mirror that had reflected Harry's movement had not belonged to the young boy, but to the man standing behind him. In his head, Harry heard Dumbledore's words from years before, echoing across the years, "It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desires of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you." Harry felt something start to build deep inside him, something he had not felt this strongly in his life.

His parents were dead, many more had died tonight to try and help him, to destroy Voldemort. They had died so that their world could become a safer place. He could no longer blame himself for their deaths. No longer wallow in self hatred. He would dedicate everything he had into rebuilding the lives of those left behind, into bettering the Wizarding World in their name. He owed them that at least. Harry looked into the mirror again, into Ginny's eyes, into the eyes of his future son, and he felt the feeling again, so powerful it brought him to his knees. Hope.


End file.
